


accidentally (like $20 in a pair of jeans you forgot you owned)

by nausicaa_of_phaeacia



Series: found [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gen, Make Daisy Happy, the Playground's kitchen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-03 01:20:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6590881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nausicaa_of_phaeacia/pseuds/nausicaa_of_phaeacia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No plot, just fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	accidentally (like $20 in a pair of jeans you forgot you owned)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Skyepilot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyepilot/gifts).



> This is obviously a #makedaisyhappy fic. Other than that, I don't really know what it is. I wrote it for Skyepilot because we're trying to bribe each other into doing Skoulson things. :) Hopefully, I'll be able to upload one more for the same purpose.

It’s still really early when he finds her in the kitchen, her feet pulled up onto the red plastic chair, large mug of coffee in her hands.  
“Coming or going?,” he asks, smirking a little, because he knows how much she likes to stay up late and meddle with some stuff on her laptop in the kitchen. (He actually thinks it’s quite awesome that even though her _day job_ is being a superhero of sorts, she’s still pursuing hacking activities, and even if it’s just to wire a few dollars to a small orphanage or to diminish the campaign funds of some really obnoxious political parties all over the world.)  
It earns him a weak smile, and it hits him how hard the past few weeks must have been for her.  
“Both? I don’t know,” she offers, but it doesn’t sound too convincing. He just nods and walks over to the coffee machine to pour himself a mug.  
“He left.”  
That makes him turn around a little too slowly because it takes him some time to consider what to say next.  
“Sorry.”  
“Yeah, no, I guess it’s fine.”  
He almost doesn’t dare to ask. “Mutual breakup?”  
She grins. “Um – well, not really. No.”  
He chuckles, raises his mug towards her, makes her mirror his gesture.

“Pancakes?,” he offers, because it’s probably the next best thing they have to ice-cream around the base, and because it’s probably breakfast time.  
She smiles at him very warmly. “Who could say no to that.”  
“Well, I don’t think anyone could, at least not after they’ve tried them,” he smirks.  
“Wow, okay, so are they like a special recipe or something? Family secret?”  
“Actually, yeah.”  
She’s stood up and walked up to him, but he only realizes when her voice is suddenly far too close.  
“Can you teach me?”  
He doesn’t really know what to say, then finds a way back into his trademark charm somehow, smirks. “You want me to spill my family secrets?”  
“I mean I basically suck at everything in the kitchen that’s not mac and cheese or beans on toast or something, so yeah. But you’re welcome to spill all the other family secrets, too.”  
“Okay. Blueberries?”  
“Sure.”  
“No, I mean – hand me the blueberries from over there?”  
Her clear, chiming laughter almost makes him forget about everything else.

They end up laughing pretty much all the way through cooking. Coulson lets Daisy try doing things herself, and they end up covered in pretty much all of the ingredients.  
When they are done, she sort of pats him on the shoulder, lets her hand slip down to his chest, and he sort of just freezes there. Suddenly, she laughs, fishes a blueberry out of his chest pocket, and for a moment there, he’s relieved. Daisy, though, Daisy offers him the blueberry, and he can’t refuse, opens his mouth, and what follows the blueberry is a small kiss on his lips that tastes like pancake dough and giggling. 

But before he can grasp what just happened, she swirls around, carries their masterpieces to the small table, adds sugar and cinnamon and sits down on one of the chairs, obviously proud, the apron still around her hips. She’s outright beaming at him, and he finds himself unable to say word, joins her.  
“We should seriously do this every day,” she moans, mouth full, smiling from ear to ear; and it suddenly feels like he’s signing up for more than just a future breakfast ritual.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Hope you liked it! :)
> 
> The title is from a poem by the amazing Fortesa Latifi, it's called _This is how we find each other_ , and I think you should read it.
> 
>  
> 
> _This is how we find each other. Open hands_  
>  _and growing hearts. The sunset looks like_  
>  _cotton candy and it is the first color I’ve seen_  
>  _in years. When the bad things come at night,_  
>  _we start sleeping with the lights on. When_  
>  _the bad things come during the day,_  
>  _we start closing the curtains. This is how_  
>  _we find each other. Creaking wood floors_  
>  _and open windows. My hands have stopped_  
>  _shaking and there is milk in my coffee._  
>  _We drink wine out of paper cups and there_  
>  _are marks on the furniture. The stubble_  
>  _on your face is a quiet reminder of how much_  
>  _growing we have left to do. This is how we_  
>  _find each other. Accidentally, like $20 in a_  
>  _pair of jeans you forgot you owned._  
>  _Purposefully, like archaeologists_  
>  _running their fingers over ancient ruins._  
>  _There is dirt under our nails and sun_  
>  _trapped beneath our skin._  
>  _This is how we find each other._


End file.
